Broken Insanity
by Twistedmaniac
Summary: Meet Harry. No one is home. No one will ever return home. We made sure of that. Sequel to Blood, Demons, and Sadists, warnings inside. Complete, and with a short ish prequel.
1. He is Broken

Broken Insanity

Welcome to the lovely sequel of "Blood, Demons, and Sadists". Before I add all the necessary warnings and such, let me just thank everyone who reviewed the prequel to this, and the last chapter especially, which I did not, unfortunately, answer. All reviews from here on out will be answered. I loved your responses to the last chapter, even though I did get a flame ((note: I don't mind flames if you have a valid point, but this guy…no point AND he got his facts all wrong and thought his name was Hades….yet signed his name "marc". Flame away people, but only if you can do better than that)) and it made me really happy to read them. Thank you for taking the time to tell me what you think. On to the story. This story is rated a very strong "M" and the warnings for it are as followed, though I'll try and put a warning at the beginning of each chapter of what will be included in that particular chapter: Probably some rape, torture, death, language, slash, pretty much everything but incest, drugs, and male pregnancy. This is a sick and twisted story, if this isn't your thing, go away, go read some nice heterosexual fic with butterflies and bunnies. Any bunnies or butterflies found in this story will be shot on sight, and worse. For those of you who haven't read "Blood, Demons, and Sadists" and won't be triggered or made to throw up from it, go read it. This is the follow up, what the new improved no Harry will do, or more like, will be pushed and forced to do by his "mentors". And I own all of this plot, I own Hades completely and totally, I own Draco's new character almost fully, (besides the fact that he's still the same person you saw in the books, looks almost exactly the same, just happens to be a major sadist) I own the dungeon they are in, The Wall, (where every weapon known to man and then some is) the shelf next to the wall, a lot of the details, and Harry's new character. I do not claim to have invented these characters, J.K Rowling owns the rest, and I am making absolutely no money off of this. You are warned. Prepare to be corrupted.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hello, I'm Draco Malfoy, sadist, maniac, and tormentor. Or torturer, whichever term you like best. This is Hades. Rapist, torturer, sexier than anyone you will ever meet, a very powerful demon, and my fuck buddy. Meet Harry. Harry is broken. Beyond repair. No one is home. No one will ever return home. We made sure of that.

We are sitting on the floor, exploring the new Harrys and plotting.

"So what do we call you?" I asked, as we had been told by the new personality not to call him Harry.

"Daren," the new personality replied. "You can call me that."

"Okay, what about the rest of you? How many are there, what are their names, and so on?"

Daren shrugged. "If they want you to know, they'll tell you themselves."

"What about Harry?" Hades asked, sharpening a machete. He could have easily done it with a drop of power, but he liked doing it, and it also made a great show. Mother is forced to walk in, her kid is chained to the wall, crying, while Hades laughs and sharpens a machete. Any blade will do, but it has a very nice effect. Said mother broke down into hysterics, saying the classic, she'd do 'anything, anything, just let her go'. As it turned out, she wasn't willing to do anything.

Little tip for those of you who want to know. Deep down, there is no one alive willing the do "anything". You won't skin the very much alive skin off of three shrieking children, won't jump out of an airplane into a sea full of every sea creature imaginable, all the ones with huge, jagged teeth, tentacles, enormous jaws, dull black eyes, and slim, long bodies that flow through the water. You won't kill your own husband, pets, and parents to save your child. You won't lock yourself in a tiny box with no air and no room to move for eternity, kept alive only by several drops of demon blood once injected into you, long, long ago. You won't face your worst fears, won't leap over that line that was once so firmly drawn. There are an amazing amount of things that people won't do.

Ignoring that, Daren replied, "He's still there, he's still Harry actually, but he'll come out when he'd ready, and he's not ready."

Hades paused. "He better be good and broken, Daren, or I am not going to be happy."

There was a short, dead silence, as Daren either mulled over the fact that Hades was going to be mad and that was very, very bad, or he was talking to someone neither of us could hear. If Harry was broken, he would have answered, because you do not want Hades unhappy.

Hades resumed running the sharpener down the machete, over and over again. "I won't be happy because it will have meant we didn't complete our job. I will, however, be quite content in knowing I can break him again." His lips curved into a smile. "Which has possibilities."

I nodded, smiling in a dazed sort of way. It did indeed have possibilities, all depending on Daren's answer.

"He is broken," Daren said finally.

"I'm almost disappointed. I was looking forward to doing worse." Hades changed subjects abruptly. "You've barely told us anything. Give us more details."

"Well, the broken part of Harry has been shoved into a separate personality," Daren explained. "So technically, he's broken, and I am living proof of that. If he weren't, none of us would be here."

"But…" Hades never even looked up from his work; he had moved on to a butcher knife. Some he kept dull because dull blades are even more painful in many ways.

"But the Harry, not a personality, is himself."

"Explain," Hades ordered calmly. You don't ever trust Hades when he's calm. Why? Because there is no such thing as a calm Hades.

"Harry, just Harry, is close to as he was. Extremely traumatized, and that will show, but functional, and he will strive to prove that."

Hades held Daren in the air, tall enough and holding him high enough that Daren dangled off the ground, blood already rushing to his face as Hades' hands tightened around his throat.

"Get me Harry," Hades demanded. "Now. I want to talk with him."

Daren clawed at the demon's hands uselessly, and as it was, was unable to talk. Hades released him and he fell to the floor in a heap.

Daren rubbed his throat, relearned how to breathe, and said in a slightly raspy voice, "Doesn't work that way."

"It does now, Daren, get me Harry." His voice was calm, even, you could never tell that he had promptly scooped Daren up, and when he was in his arms, put his nose to Daren, so that they were face to face and he was staring directly into his eyes.

Daren stared back, shocked, and Hades actually growled at him, baring his teeth.

"Get out of my face," Harry said, struggling to free his arms from where they were pinned at his sides.

Hades face transformed in the blink of an eye. He was beaming, and silenced Harry by giving him a deep, probing kiss. "Harry!"

"Why do you always have to _bite_ me when you kiss me?" Harry glared up at Hades, though he was clearly dazed, and he had a very small smile, like he was glad to see him.

The joys of insanity. You'd never think that Hades was the one who had raped him three times in a row just an hour or so ago. Though it could be more or less, time means little to me.

Sure enough, there was blood running down Harry's mouth, once again. I never got tired of seeing it.

Hades licked the blood away thoroughly, and then he pulled back and asked, "So who else is in there?"

"Hades…can't this wait?" Harry pleaded. He couldn't move, still held by Hades, but his face said it all.

"No," Hades smirked. "Tell me."

Harry glared at him, but the glare melted and he stared up at him, silently begging him to _save the goddamn questions for later and fuck him_.

Hades stared down, amused. "I'm not doing anything until you answer me."

Harry gave up, having learned that until you did what Hades told you to do, the whole world stood still. Wanting Hades, nothing else matters but him. You can't see anything else, hear anything else, you don't want anything else. I have seen people starve themselves, give up every dream they ever had, everything they have now, _everything,_ for him.

"You met Daren, and then there's Jake…utterly useless." Even as he spoke fast enough so that it was almost impossible to understand what he was saying, even through the haze of lust through which he was seeing the world, disgust shone on his face. "He's so weak…he's…repulsive."

Harry Potter did not like Jake. That much was exceedingly obvious. Listen to his tone of voice, his words, and watch his face. Any fool could see it. Question was, why? I had a theory, but I waited.

Lust won over insulting Jake, as Harry decided to move on. "That's it." He watched Hades' face intently, waiting for him to finish what he'd started.

"That's it? Daren spoke like there were a lot of you," Hades said, enjoying Harry's frustration.

"Hades, please! Not now!" Harry hissed. "Later!"

Hades shrugged. "Not like you're going to answer any questions, anyhow, not like this."

Harry smiled. "Exactly."

Hades dropped Harry to the floor, and turned on his heel. "Have fun, Harry. I'll be back."

Harry's scream of frustration only widened Hades' grin, and he nodded to me. "See what you can find out, I'm leaving."

"Passing up a chance to fuck Harry Potter?" I stared incredulously at him. "What can be that important? Where are you going?"

"Out," Hades replied, grinning like a gorgeous, demonic Cheshire Cat. And with that, he picked up the razor sharp machete, and shut the iron door behind him with a finger, laughing.

Why was he laughing, where was he going, why the _fuck_ is he not ripping Harry's clothes off right now, why am I not going with him, and what is he plotting? I shook my head.

_Think of it as more time to…bond…with Potter_, suggested a Thought. Thoughts could be useful in that sense. I happened to agree with this particular one. Until Hades decided to stop being more mysterious than usual, I was going to have to wait.

My eyes wandered over to Harry. He was sitting on the ground, clutching his raven black hair, head bowed so that his hair spilled over his face, hiding it from me. Blood was dripping, ever so slowly to the ground, but increasing. It was coming from his face, or so it seemed.

_Yeah, I can wait_, I thought with a smile, and took the first step towards him.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A/N: Merry Christmas to everyone! or anything else you celebrate, this is my…present to you. I worked on it especially so I could get it up for Christmas for all of you and I hope you liked it. Tell me what you thought. Reviews of all kinds are welcomed, and blunt opinions, criticisms, suggestions, complaints, rants, praise, comments, rambling, any and all manner of things are valued. I hope this meets all of your standards.


	2. I Should Hate You

A/N: I was really happy when I got your reviews and all of you liked the first chapter. That was a relief. If there are errors, my apologies, my editing was cut short because I wrote a new scene for this chapter and am being kicked of the computer for now. Oh, I have a recommendation to those reading. Watch. "Saw". Such an amazing movie!

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Arachne: Yay! I'm so glad you liked this! I was so worried it would suck, lol. I'm still hyped up from watching Saw! Sooo good.

Senasitara: Glad you liked it so much! Still love your name. Without knowing what it means. hangs head

akuma-river: Oh come one, you _know_ there's gonna be more than just Jake and Daren for personalities. Honestly, only two? Would I do that to you? Never. Hmm…That's an interesting idea. Mostly I'm putting his personalities into necessary parts of a sort. Like, Jake's his pain, Jake's the broken part of him, Daren's Harry's 'coping skill' the strong one, that will always be there and so on. But you know, anything goes. Lol, couldn't find a word, could you? 22! I hope I'm still reading badly written torture fics seven years from now. Thanks as always for the long reviews and the part where you always review. It's greatly appreciated.

death by storm: Go more sadism! I love sequels, too, even if they suck. Weird that way, I guess.

Lord Voldemort roks: I never got to respond to your previous review, but it was so cool that I have to now. Even though it was for a different story. It still counts, this is the sequel. Anyhow, the review. I'm really glad you got your friend into the story. That's so incredibly cool that that's what happened to your mind when you read the story. If you can say that, then I have done my job, hehe. I was just really happy to hear that. Dr. Who I haven't seen so I can't say…sorry. But I have to admit, Barty Crouch jr. was pretty hot, hehe. Hey, Merry Christmas to you, too! Way late in saying so, but hey.

rabidbutterfly: As I mentioned before, no way I'd shoot you! It's those sickeningly cute butterflies that everyone draws or whatever that make me wish I had a shotgun.

in these chains: You came back! Yay! Lol, belated Merry Christmas to you, too. No way would I keep the personalities down to just two. They're just too much fun. I love the new one soo much. (you'll meet him soon) He's my favorite.

InsanelyDemented: As I've mentioned in less words probably, I am so glad to hear you say that. Write that. Whatever. Thank you.

Guinn Pern: Welcome back, my friend! Happy to see you're back and liking it.

Kat Davi: Thank you! I always love getting long reviews. Lol, I'm such a bitch…especially when it comes to cliffies. I got your review right when I was editing this for posting. You got lucky, posted right after you read chapter one. holds hands up Now don't assume. Rape always manages to squiggle it's way into my fics somehow. Yay! You're about to meet Vlad, though briefly. More in the next chapter. pets Vlad He's mine though, hands off.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Harry didn't even notice me until I nudged him with my foot. "Hey, Potter, were you really that set on him fucking you?"

He said something so quietly I could barely hear him, even with very sensitive not-quite-human hearing. "That's not me."

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"That's not me!" he shouted, looking up at me with eyes shiny with tears and blood running down from his lips. "I'm not like that! I don't beg people to…to do that! Ever! I don't even _like_ him! I barely know him!"

I probably shouldn't tell him about the other time he begged Hades to fuck him, before we gave him the potion so he could stop seeing Hades as a sex god and start seeing him again as the most terrifying thing he'll ever meet. "Actually Harry, you did. Don't you remember? You were all over Hades."

"Shut up, Draco," Harry said quietly. "I remember."

"Me too," I said, grinning. "You two are sooo fucking sexy together."

"Don't remind me," Harry said angrily.

"Already have," I said casually. "But tell me, Harry, why was it you couldn't kill me? That's what I really want to know."

"Why can't you just shut up!" Blood flew from his lips as he spoke.

"He bit you pretty hard," I observed, touching his lips and coming away with a bloody hand. Automatically my hand went to my own mouth to taste him. Still intoxicating, still addicting.

Harry licked his lips automatically, his hand half rising to wipe away the blood.

"Let me help you." I grasped the hand that was about to wipe the blood from his mouth away and jerked him towards me.

"Don't," he whispered half-heartedly, before our bodies molded together and I licked his lips, not kissing him, cleaning those red lips of the blood. His breath escaped in a sigh, and his lips parted. That small taste led me to capture his lips in mine, one arm around his waist, hand moving across the bare skin of his lower back; the other hand tangled in his hair. It was not a chaste kiss, it was not soft, and it was not gentle.

I explored his mouth, tasting not only blood and the indescribable taste of Harry, but the faint taste of Hades.

Harry pulled back, slowly, and reluctantly. Those bright emerald green eyes were dazed and slightly unfocused. "I really should hate you."

"Tell me why." I even pulled apart from him and started circling him, giving him the chance to prove his point.

"To start, you cut a hole in my side, bit it, poured a ton of salt in it, sewed it up with a huge needle, and oh look…it's still there," Harry said, his voice beginning to fill with anger.

"And it's very pretty," I agreed.

"Drove me to suicide but force fed me demon blood, which is worse than _acid_, and burned away my insides, then sewed my mouth closed with needles so I couldn't throw it up, making me go through pure agony. This made me immortal so I was trapped in my own fucking internal Hell, with you to thank, but couldn't even get out by dying!" He was shouting now. "You dislocated my arm, you tortured the living – "

I had stopped circling him and kicked him hard in the back of his knees. His legs gave out under him, and he fell to the floor. One of my legs was on either side of him; I was straddling him while his head was still spinning.

"Yes, Harry, that's all very true," I said evenly. "But does any of it really matter?"

"Yes," he whispered, but his voice wasunsure.

"No," I corrected. "It doesn't. Because we brought out the Harry that was hiding in a dark, tiny closet. The Harry you tried so very hard to hide from the world. Doesn't it feel good to be released from all that shit?"

"I – "

"The world loves you because you saved it from a single evil, leaving a thousand more behind to tear the world apart. But they don't realize that. They worship you, Harry, without actually caring for you, because you saved their asses. Is that how you wanted to live?"

"….."

"I'm all that's left of your world. All of your friends died. The only ones who truly cared. Now you are free, Harry, to be whoever the fuck you want to be, because we're the only one's who care!"

Harry swallowed. Though that might have had something to do with the fact that both my hands were placed on his bare chest and my face was inches from his.

"You know what you need?"

"Sanity?" Harry asked wearily.

"Sanity is so overrated," I dismissed. "No, you need exactly what we can get you."

"What's that?"

"Merry Christmas!" Hades announced, kicking in the door, as his hands were full, and depositing a woman who was alternately shouting curses at him and sobbing and a man who seemed to have had his mouth sewed and stapled shut.

"It's Christmas?" I wondered aloud. Time really was meaningless, I suppose. Especially since I wasn't Christian and hadn't gotten excited over Christmas since I was a kid.

At the same time, Harry tried to lift his head to see around me. "Hades! What are you doing!"

"Being festive," Hades said. And so he was. He was wearing a red hat with white trimming and a white pompom on the end, like Muggle 'Santas' always wore. That seemed to be the extent of his festivity, though, as he was wearing 'normal' clothes. Normal meaning not all black, not fishnet, not leather, and so on. He was wearing faded jeans with a thin slash over one of his thighs so that his flawless skin showed and an actual white button up collared shirt, which he ripped off immediately, and shuddered, glad to be rid of it.

"How is that festive?" Harry hissed.

"Note the hat," Hades said, and tossed it across the room. He smiled. "I was one of those Santas at the mall that had little kids sit on their laps." His smile widened. "That part was nice. But their kid started screaming, and not the fun kind, and wouldn't stop, so she had to be….left behind."

"Actually, that was fun, too," he admitted, kicking the woman across the room and then the man next. "Almost as much fun as this will be."

"Don't, Hades, please, put them back," Harry pleaded. "They haven't done anything, and…Satan knows what you did to their kid. That's enough."

I sighed and stood, yanking Harry to his feet with me. I turned around, pulling a stumbling Harry with me. "And we were just getting somewhere, too."

"No worries, you can fuck him later, right now, we have work to do," Hades said solemnly.

"Rachel…" the women cried softly. She was in a heap on the floor and was not making the effort to get up.

Hades shrugged. "She was a brat anyways, they should thank me."

"You – you monster!" the woman whispered, wiping her tears away briskly and standing in a burst of defiance; and dragging her husband up by the hand with her. "God will punish you and you will burn in the fires of Hell for all of eternity!"

"I don't need you to damn me to Hell, lady, I can go there whenever I want to," Hades answered, amused. "Though my master prefers for my work to be done in this world for the most part."

"You're an abomination to the human kind!" she hissed, striding up to him.

"Did you just call me a human?" Hades laughed. "Open pretty little eyes, lady, you saw what happened to the little one."

She slapped him, hard. It echoed through the walls. "You bastard! I can't believe that –" She stopped,breathing heavily. A single tear ran down her cheek and then she flew at Hades, all composition lost as she tackled him to the floor. She would have been a star football player. He let her, laughing.

I wasn't surprised when she attacked him and it was all open handed slaps and nails. She didn't look like the type that would take the time to learn how to fight. She looked like a mom, someone who went around with perfect make up and skirts, maybe a business woman with a firm religion.

Hades flicked her off of him with a finger, and stood. "Nice as it is to be attacked, I have a student to teach. Go in a corner and exist."

"What do –"

"I mean go in a corner, watch, and don't do anything else. Now." He put his hands on her, and shoved to show her where to go. She did as he said, went and sat in a corner and watched with wide eyes. Not voluntarily, mind you. Hades was quite good at mind control.

The man was trying to talk, but the stitches and staples made that rather difficult. But judging by the color of his face he was pissed.

"Let her go, Hades. Let both of them go," Harry said, deadly calm.

"Harry, do you honestly expect me to say, 'Golly, Harry, I finally see the error of my ways. I should never have exposed their kids brains and intestines to them and then brought them here and stapled his mouth. I'll just go put them back.' Is that what you want me to say?"

"Maybe not like that, but…I don't know! How the fuck am I supposed to persuade you to let them go!" Harry strode up to Hades, and actually waited for him to answer.

Hades ignored him completely. "I know what you need."

"I need my fucking sanity back! I need you to – "

"Hey, you, the overly religious bitch. Come here."

I knelt by the man, considered taking the thread and staples out of his mouth, and thought better of it. He was making noises in the back of his throat that suggested he'd be screaming his lungs out at me. He needed to not be shouting at us for now. After.

He seemed to be immobilized for now, however, thanks to Hades, so I left him alone and joined Hades.

She stood, and walked over to Hades, staring blankly at his face. He slapped her, and she stared at him, herself again. "Don't touch me!"

"Too late." Hades ran a clawed finger down her cheek.

Not surprisingly, she slapped him back, and raised her hand to her cheek. Her hand came away stained with blood.

Hades kicked her in the back of her knee and she stumbled, fell to the ground. "God will save me," she said, brave andlovely in her resolution. Her mascara was running, along with a few tears, her lipstick smeared from when I assumed Hades had previously…smudged…it. Her blond hair, short and sensible, was no where near as immaculate as it had been before she met Hades.

"Uh hunh. See if you can say that again in two hours." Hades smirked.

"He will not leave me to the likes of you," she spat. "The Lord is merciful and will spare me!"

"Some fucked up logic you got there. 'God' didn't save your kid, don't see why he'd save you," Hades mused.

"Don't…don't!" Harry gasped, tears of his own trickling down his cheeks. "Take her away! No!"

For his sake and hers. That became clear within the minute.

Harry smirked,and it looked wrong on his face. A few seconds before he had been crying; his cheeks were still wet with his tears; and he had been so clearly distraught. Now he wore a smirk my father would have been proud of.

"Bring her here." His voice had changed subtly. It was somehow deeper, smoother. He was more sure of himself than Harry had been, standing straight and tall.

Hades grinned. "Ah, another one. Who might you be?"

"Vlad," he said absently, "Pleasure to meet you, Hades, Draco." He was walking toward the woman, barely noting us.

"Help me," the woman whispered, looking up at him. "Please help me. Help us. I'll give you whatever you want."

Vlad knelt down beside her, and stared at her.

"Please," she whispered. "Whatever you want, we can give it to you."

"Unfortunately the only thing I want is you," Vlad said, smiling, a hand on her bloody cheek. His words didn't match his expression or stance at all. He may as well have said, "Everything's okay now. I'll get you both out, I promise."

"But you were saying…you wanted him to let me alone!" she gasped, as his hands slid down her cheek and down her neck.

Vlad smiled. "I changed my mind."

"No!" she stood, and stumbled to her husband. "George, we've got to get out of here! Stand up!"

Vlad walked towards her, not in any particular hurry.

"George! You've got to stand up!" Her husband could not move his lower body or his arms, though he certainly tried.

"Let me help you," Vlad said gently, and pushed her aside gently. "Here."

"Thank you, thank you," she said, clearly trying to hold herself together. "George he's going to help us. It's okay."

Vlad took hold of the middle of the thick string embedded in George's lips and jerked his arm back, ripping the string and his flesh in one vicious motion, staples flying everwhere. A scream escaped his newly freed mouth.

The woman tried to put herself in between Vlad and her husband. "What are you doing! You've hurt him!"

She was right. Her husband was clutching his mouth, rivelets of crimson liquid trickling between his fingers.

Vlad turned to her. "That was the point, dear."

"You said you were going to help us…I said I'd give you anything, anything you want, and I will!" she said desperately.

Vlad leaned in close so that he was closer to the woman than anyone but your lover should be. "A very generous offer. And yet I did mention before."

He whispered the last words, still giving her the kind of look that most of us mistook for lust. "The only thing I want is you."

The woman reeled back as if she'd been slapped, face burning red. "Why you – "

"Now you listen here, I will not allow you to speak to my wife that way!" the man said, face almost as red as his wife's. He had some trouble speaking, understandably, spitting blood and saliva as he spoke, and yet the message got across.

Vlad stood and bowed. "I would never speak to a lady like that. You must understand that wasn't how I meant it."

"Yeah? How did you mean it then?" George stood, fists clutched. Lots of anger, not enough places to direct it at. The makings of a hot headed fool.

Vlad yanked the woman, whose name we still didn't know, to her feet by her hair, and held out his hand. Without even glancing back at the demon, Vlad caught the knife Hades threw to him.

"Like this," he said calmly, and slashed at the blond woman's perfect face. The last clear picture of everyone somewhat calm was her shocked face, with a deep cut in her left cheek with the blood just filling in the wound and beginning to ooze out of it. I caught a glimpse of her cheekbone.

"Marion!" her husband shouted. He started for her, and then turned his rage filled eyes to Vlad. "You – "

I stepped in. "It's best if you don't interrupt."

I gave him a swift kick to where it counts, and when he was still on the floor clutching himself and gasping for air, tied his hands and legs with some particularly rough rope from The Shelf and kicked him again in the stomach. After a moment to consider, I broke both of his legs and turned to the much more interesting matter of the Boy-Who-Was-Formerly-Harry and his very first victim.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

A/N: I try and listen to all requests, so I did put some Harry/Draco in, and I'm still listening for any other requests, and working on meeting the other ones. Yeah, so, soon as you all review, I update, and you find out what makes Vlad so very lovely.


	3. Vlad

A/N: Aren't our priorities fucked? I can put any amount of disturbing violence, any amount of language, or drugs, any amount of torture in here and they can't do shit. But if I have two of my characters have sex once then the story goes down. It amuses me so much. Same thing with the real world. Violence is fine, but people have sex, the act that's mandatory to our survival, and people flip. Oh right, the story, sorry. Got caught up. Anyhow, the reason the above is there is because the following chapter is very, very violent. So yeah, here's your useless warning (cuz if you're reading this story, you read the first one, right? So why am I bothering to warn you?) this chapter introduced the new personality that you briefly met before (Vlad) and this is what he can do. ((huggles Vlad)) You all had better review, I got this up in record time with only several reviews!

VHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVH

At first I thought an entirely new personality had taken over from where Vlad had left off. Gone was the polite, composed man that had seemed so calm.

Vlad was moving scarily quickly. He was moving at a speed that most humans never achieve. And the thing was, he was human. It wasn't the blood, he was just that fast. He was moving like he was fluid, and the woman was in hysterics.

"What are you doing!" she screamed. "Stop it!"

As all blade wounds are, the very first second was white flesh, the kind that is not the flesh on the outside of our skin. It's the flesh that tells you you're gone somewhere that you shouldn't be. Then the blood filled in. Fresh blood isn't dark, it's bright red. And it is beautiful.

Two cuts graced her chest, the material of her blouse peeling down, exposing the white flesh. Three were on her face: The first cut on her cheek, then one on the opposite cheek, and one that cut across the first cut, forming a crooked X.

Vlad licked the drops of blood that dripped down the blade, slowly, sensually. His tongue traced the blade's edge, to the very tip. He laughed, and more blood had gathered in his mouth. He had sliced his own tongue.

Vlad knocked her down to the floor, bloodied knife in hand, pinning her with his own body to the floor. Lying on top of her, he ripped any material in his way to the side, and drew a long line of red just below her collarbone, slowly, drawing it out. Then he traced the line with his tongue, and when he lifted his head, licked his lips. My eyes followed the drops of crimson that threatened to fall from his mouth that he caught with his tongue. He grinned, staring down at her with those crazed eyes, and Marion shoved him off of her, but not quickly, and she stumbled to her feet. She backed away, tripping over nothing, attempting to cover her chest.

"I am not after your flesh, Marion," Vlad said. "Flesh is a barrier to the fluid with in, a container of the most amazing substance on this Earth. But that is all it is."

"You're insane!" she said hoarsely.

"Just noticed, have you?" He said lightly, smiling. "Come here, Marion. I'm not done with you."

The woman shook her head, backing up further.

Vlad closed his eyes and smiled. "I can smell you, Marion. I could find you with my eyes closed."

"You – you freak!" Her eyes were impossibly wide, showing too much white. She was edging towards The Wall.

"If it's a chase you want, I'd be happy to partake, but otherwise, you will stop edging towards that katana," Vlad said. "It would get in the way. If you must get a weapon I would suggest something smaller."

Marion, one arm across her chest, breathing heavily, lunged for the katana.

He hit her at a dead run, tackling her to the floor and knocking the blade out of her hand. He lowered his mouth to the X on her cheek and spoke against the bloodied flesh. "It was a pleasure meeting you, though I am certain it will be an even greater pleasure to finish this and never see you again."

Vlad struck again and again, literally hacking her into bits, and he was laughing all the way, almost silently, but everyone in the room heard it just fine. Hot, fresh blood sprayed from beneath her skin, falling to land on me. It was only a bit; the rest belonged to Vlad. It only let me realize how close I was, and that I hadn't remembered getting there.

"GodJesusMaryandJoseph!" she screamed in one word as he ripped her clothing to bits with his knife. He rolled them over, and you couldn't tell that he was unharmed. He was smeared with her blood. Not just covered or smeared as in, he's lying on her and blood is spraying into his face. He was rubbing himself into her wounds, still laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. He was rubbing against her like he was a cat and she was his favorite person, rubbing his face, his hair, his entire body into the blood. It was an honest to Lucifer blood bath.

Vlad's hair was standing up in a dozen different directions, stiff with blood, his face was smeared with it, his eyes were wild, bright, he was licking the blood from her. From her face, her stomach, her arms, her neck, her breasts: everywhere.

But most interesting of all, it wasn't sexual. It was and it wasn't. He didn't want to fuck her, he wasn't even kissing her, or touching the places a man would. It was the blood he wanted. The body was an outlet for it and so he loved her body, but most of all I knew it was the blood he would die for.

She started shouting out the Lord's Prayer, in between several other choice words (God, help me! Nooo!).

"My Lord is my shepherd, I shalt not want, he maketh me to – " Vlad reached into her mouth, grabbed her tongue, dug his nails in to keep hold on it, and cut it off. Didn't talk to her, just cut her tongue out and screamed in her face. Not like he was angry or scared shitless and in tons of pain like she was, an insane, wild scream in her face while his grin split in face, tongue out of his mouth, the epitome of insanity. She screamed even louder. Tongue cut out, she could not speak, but _damn_, could she scream.

"MARION!" Her husband tried to move towards her, dragging himself by his arms, grunting in pain.

"Shut up," Hades said. "I want to hear her scream."

"Bastard! Let her go! LET HER – "

"Shut the fuck up!"

Her husband found that he could no longer speak around the centipedes and various insects crawling in and out of his mouth. Apparently they were in his throat, too, because he couldn't make any sort of noise. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, as he clawed at his throat, as though someone had their hands around his neck. Well, that was one way to shut someone up. I glanced to Hades, but he was ignoring the man (now writhing on the ground with more and more various small creatures making themselves known) and was watching the woman.

Her mouth filled with blood, and she started choking. Vlad held her head down with both of his hands and descended on her mouth.

I glanced over at Hades. His mouth was open, though I doubted it was with surprise. He grinned at me, slapped his thigh, laughed, silver eyes (glowing like they did when he was around this much blood and violence) never leaving Vlad. "Who the fuck knew he had it in him!"

I grinned and turned back to Vlad.

Marion, the woman, was way beyond the point where she should have passed out. Her blood was all over her destroyed skirt and tattered blouse (bloody rags) and had leaked to the floor, but most of it had gone into Vlad and onto him, judging by the dark stain of blood that was all over his lips, tongue, and chin. All over all of him, actually.

"You force fed her a potion, didn't you," I said to Hades, and it wasn't a question.

"What do you take me for? Of course I did," Hades answered, both of our eyes still on Vlad, who was slitting her wrists as her head turned weakly from side to side.

"Wouldn't want her to run out of blood, now would we?" Hades asked rhetorically.

"No," I answered. "We sure as Hell wouldn't."

"I want to try something." Hades enclosed a jagged piece of glass to her. "Don't want to take the fight out of you just yet." He touched the center of her chest, and Vlad turned to him and hissed, turned to something animalistic and demonic, that had nothing to do with the demon blood still burning inside of him.

"Relax, I'm gone." Hades returned to where he had been before.

Marion started to come back some, and though she didn't use it to its best ability, attacked him with the large shard of broken glass. Why he didn't just give her a knife, I don't know.

He just laughed even harder and let her, sawing through the bone. She bit him and he ignored her, systematically cutting into the places where the blood would flow from fastest.

He moved to the inside of her elbows, and then closed his eyes briefly, savoring the moment, and grinned. In a near blur of movement he stabbed violently at her, everywhere, sticking the knife into her with the soft, wet sound of flesh being penetrated. Then he would twist it in all the way and drag it out in a line, though I noticed he avoided a few places. Her stomach, for example. Lot more than blood in there if you cut that deep, and it doesn't smell so nice.

Blood was actively flowing from him to her now, their blood mixing from where she had slashed him, or stabbed him in panicked thrusts. He didn't notice. A jagged glass shard bigger than his hand, stuck into him over and over again, though of course not anywhere _near_ as brutal as he was mutilating her, and he never once showed any sign of caring. He wasn't a masochist, he just did not care about enough pain to make another scream, or at least cry out. And if I knew Hades, the glass had been dipped in something nasty.

Hades walked over to Vlad and his victim, and knelt beside them.

"Hey, you," he said. "Marion. Still think your God's gonna save ya?"

She couldn't speak, and was reduced to pain-filled whimpers and moans by now, coupled with the occasional shriek and scream of agony.

Hades ran his hand over her cheek, and she flinched. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "See, personally; while your kid got fucked and got her intestines ripped out; while your husband got his mouth stapled and then his legs broken; while you got your tongue ripped out, and while you got turned into a bunch of profusely bleeding, screaming steak, I never saw one angel come to even comfort you. Did you?"

Her tears ran faster down her crimson cheeks, tears mingling with the much more abundant liquid to become a watery red. She stared hopelessly up at him, and it was enough. No, she hadn't.

"Didn't think so," Hades smirked.

Vlad whipped around to face him. He snarled, literally snarled, and his teeth were bloodstained. He didn't speak, but it was impossible to misunderstand what he meant. I've had it with you. Back the fuck off before I cut you up, too.

Hades grinned. "I'm gone, swear it. This is your future being written, I would never interrupt."

The demon sniffed the air, and looked wistfully at the bleeding body. "She smells delicious. Pity."

Hades stood, and backed off, leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, sucking the blood off of his fingers. "Do continue."

Vlad ignored him. I don't think a spoken language of any kind was going to register in that head of his right now.

Vlad looked down at her, and she was just looking up at him. Tired. Hurt. Without her most important defense: her faith. And yet she was still clearly terrified, shaking, and couldn't seem to stop crying. She was whimpering, turning her face from side to side as if that would somehow allow her to escape.

Compared to what Vlad did next, he had been calm before. Before he had been mutilating her, and it had seemed like he was going crazy. Now it was enough like Hades could be that if I was any different it would have been scary. There was not a breath between his slashes, and he had pulled her to her feet, she was moving, she was trying to run and defend her body from the blows at the same time, while crying out, and stumbling because it hurt much too much to stand.

I wish you could have seen it. He had stopped laughing now. He was grinning that grin that we can get that makes it look like our faces are going to split. His tongue was out of his mouth, catching the blood as it flew from the air, flicking in and out to lick the blood flowing from each newest wound. Blood was…everywhere. His arms darted in and out, his body moving in and out of the space right next to Marion, almost a blur, hacking, slicing, to the music of shrieking and the screams of her long forgotten husband, who was watching all of it with a horror stricken look on his face and silent tears running down his cheeks. Maybe he really had loved her.

He seemed to be okay, other than his previous injuries and the fact that his wife was a bloody pile of meat. Meaning the insects were gone. Hades didn't care if he spoke now, apparently.

The final blows were fitting ones. A long line from her forehead to between her thighs, not cutting her in half, but I could see bone. Bone, muscle, but he had still impossibly avoided intestine. An endless spray and leakage of blood. Then he cut across her upper body, right above her breasts. The final cuts were in the shape of the cross.

Vlad lay across her body, and licked what must have been her face a final time. He started laughing, and it became silent, until his entire body was shaking with it. He curled up next to the body, resting his head on her mostly bare ribcage, smiling.

"Shit," Hades said admiringly. "That was fucking amazing, Vlad."

"Was it not?" he replied passively.

She didn't look like a person. She looked like something that might have once been identifiable, but you could never tell now. She looked like she had been put in a giant blender. The only thing that didn't quite match was her stomach and a little lower. Remember, if you cut those areas too deep it doesn't smell very nice, and it tastes even worse. Vlad was after blood, and blood alone. Marion had been reduced to looking like so much meat. Meat that had short red hair, no longer blond, and blue eyes, and the broken and bloodied chain of a once golden cross around her neck. In her out stretched hand lay the shard of glass. I understood now why it had been glass. Her hand was cut to the bone, and not from Vlad, the glass embedded in it. She had to care about hurting Vlad enough to use it in the first place. Judging by how deep the wounds were, she had gripped it in a literal death grip.

"Marion! MARION!" screamed her husband. "No!"

Vlad looked to the body and to her husband. "I'm sorry. This must be rather upsetting for you."

"My Rachel, my…Marion!" he moaned. I assumed Rachel had been his child. "My beautiful girls…Oh, God…"

His eyes were shut, and I realized he was crying, silently. He let out a drawn out, high pitched sound that there is no word for in the English language. His misery had degraded to those high screams, crying so hard he was literally screaming.

Vlad was up and standing over him within the minute. Covered in blood, hair sticking up on end, but no longer grinning. Eyes cold and dead, he said, "I am going to have to ask you to stop that."

"You son of bitch! You dirty, sick, fucking bastard!" George screamed. Legs still broken, he crawled forward on his elbows. "I'll kill you!"

"Unless I'm sadly mistaken, I doubt your god would approve of you killing me," Vlad said idly. "But you can try if you really want to."

The grieving man let out a rage filled scream and swiped at Vlad's feet. Vlad jumped, dodging them easily and grabbed the man's head in his hands. "Stop that noise," he commanded.

The husband screamed louder, if possible, swinging wildly at the blood soaked maniac that just moments ago had been mutilating his wife.

"Fine," Vlad said, and head still cradled in his hands, twisted sharply, snapping his neck. Silence filled the dungeon, the distant echo of screams echoing off the walls.

VHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHV

A/N: AGH! I got so hyper writing this! bounces Even though I envy Vlad so much…I love him! He's my favorite personality, and one of my favorite characters. nods Please tell me what you thought! I'm anxious to see whether I captured the moment and such okay. I'm used to Vlad being a separate person and blond (don't ask) so I had to keep reminding myself he looked like Harry. I wanted to capture Vlad perfectly. And I had the image quite clearly in my mind, even the sounds, so I hope I got it all down! You all had better review, I got this up in record time and there weren't too many reviews, either! Review!


	4. Realization

A/N: I'm back…I got a review about this story yesterday and just randomly realized how much I would rather be working on this than sleeping. It's been so long! Ever since "Even the Light can Die out" got deleted, I just sort of stopped, and I am sorry to all of you, who I keep waiting for just about every story I ever write. I'm going to try and finish all of them, eventually, and rewrite the earlier ones. For those reading my other current story, "Even the Light can Die out", I've been working a lot on that (the new version of it). Coupled with life, which has gotten even busier and crazier (quite literally, actually) and you have a long wait. Reviews I can't answer elsewhere will be answered below.

(The first two review replies are from waaay long ago, but I kept them anyway)

Lord Voldemort roks: Yeah, haha, we're all screwed if our parents find this. Thankfully that hasn't happened so far.

Kat Davi: ((hugs)) Yes, Vlad is amazing. I'm going to have to bring him back because I love him so. Oh, wow! Thanks! That's great to know! I'm really glad you could get a mental image of what went on.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are not my characters, and all plot details from her fabulous books are hers alone. However, Hades, Vlad, Daren, Jake, Marion, and Marion's husband are all my own, and so is the new horribly mutated plot and personalities of these characters. Warning: If gore grosses you out, or whatever, just go away, kay? I get a lot of flames telling me I'm horrible, sick, twisted, etc. (which amuses the hell out of me) but I don't send you telepathic messages making you read my stories, people, so this is your problem from now on.

HVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHVHV

Picture this. Harry, nice little innocent –savior of the wizarding world, with the near suicidal urge to be the hero for everyone –Harry, with only scattered patches of pale skin showing, the rest of him covered in another's blood. His rich, dark brown (black unless you have Hades' to compare it to) hair is darker, wild and more untamed than ever and wet with blood. His shirt is off, lost some time ago, his toned chest smeared with red, faint trail of soft hairs leading down into pants that look like they've been painted on, painted with a very nice shade of red, clinging to his skin. There are slashes in the denim, revealing his skin, his blood mingling with that of the woman's. In this moment she has lost her name. She is just the woman that brought out the psychopath in Harry Potter, and a corpse lying in bright splashes of red on the floor. Even his bare feet have dashes of the woman's lifeblood.

Vlad, Harry, ran his hands through his hair, carelessly, so that none of it ran in the same direction, some of it sticking on end. His eyes were closed, leaning against the wall. One foot is on the ground, the other is behind him, touching the wall. Where his knee is bent, there is a thin flash of white through material wet with his blood, and some of hers. He was breathing deeply, and I could see his chest's rise and fall, not with exhaustion, but with exhilaration. He raised a long fingered, completely blood soaked, hand to his mouth, and began to clean it, almost as if in a trance.

"Hey, Vlad," Hades said. "C'mere."

"Why?" Vlad never opened his eyes.

He is beautiful, dark, rich brown hair stiff and chaotic with blood, intense green eyes peering out of a veritable mask of drying liquid like emeralds, porcelain skin with its bare hint of sun more red with blood than its original color. Harry was like some tall, blood stained, great cat, cleaning his hands of blood. From the heel of his hand to the tips of his fingers, the red was smeared and cleaned away in a thorough wash of his long, now red tongue. The flashes of white, even teeth I glimpsed as he cleaned himself of blood were no longer as white, either.

He seemed to be trying to ignore Hades, and if it was anyone else, he would have managed, easily. But you just can't "ignore" a tall, exotic demon that wants to speak with you.

"Because I want Harry to find out the fun way, and you're going to help me, aren't you?"

"What is your plan?"

"Join me, my sexy little vampiric psychopath. I'll show you." Hades smiled.

I felt, rather than saw or heard, Hades' particular brand of magic sweep the room, like unseen tendrils of cold mist.

I felt it hover above the bodies, and actually saw the pearly white, formless purities that were souls beginning to rise from them. The magic took the souls with long, shadow fingers and shoved them back in forcibly, the pale form retreating back down Marion's throat, and a similar one mirroring it with her husband. The bodies twitched, and the faces had near identical looks. Their faces looked as though they were in pain, and a tear ran out of Marion's eye. They looked miserable, as if having been denied something wonderful. Yet they were dead, and there was no mistaking that little fact.

The souls were resting once again in their separate corpses.

That was one thing about Hades. You never, ever forgot how much power he possessed. He never let you forget; not by telling you, but by acts like these. Like him shoving souls back into their bodies. He wasn't showing off, he wasn't bragging, and he wasn't trying to impress anyone, though. It wasn't a conscious effort or goal to prove that he could do all of this. He had no need to brag, and it wouldn't have occurred to him in the first place, because he was Hades.

You may not understand this fully, but Hades is second only to Satan. There's a whole hierarchy in Hell, of demons, of their separate types, and it's a constant battle for power and to achieve a higher position. But Hades doesn't have to worry about his position, because no one has the power to take it from him, and in all of Hell, and anywhere, the only on he has to answer to is Satan. Meaning that he is fucking high up, and you don't want him angry with you.

"To preserve the scene," Vlad said softly. His eyes were still closed, meaning he hadn't seen the souls, but had sensed them in a way that needed no physical sight. "This will keep it exactly as it is until you say, correct?"

Hades smiled, looking almost pleased. "Exactly."

"I like you because you brought me blood. I like Harry because he allows me to get the blood. But right now, I like you more." Vlad opened one eye. "Meaning, yes, Hades, I would be delighted to scheme with you."

"Fantastic." Hades extended a pale hand to him.

Vlad opened the other eye, and effortlessly pushed off from the wall with one foot, and strode over to Hades, accepted the hand.

VHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHD

I felt Harry awake, and nuzzle closer into me, still mostly asleep. He smiled, and I couldn't help but grin. This sweet, almost angelic, peaceful smile on his face just went so well with his blood soaked body.

Then I felt his body stiffened against mine as, presumably, he realized that he was cuddled against a body, and that all that was between us was flesh. He blinked, and his sleep-hazed face looked confused.

He took in the huge, mahogany bed, the rumpled royally dark blue, silken sheets, the unfamiliar room that wasn't the dungeon, the large wardrobe, full length mirror, huge, spotless window with the dark curtains pulled back to reveal early evening, already darkening in its winter's lighting. A huge, leafless tree with branches reaching near to the window was in his view, the right side of the room, and a frost covered tundra of a field that he'd never seen before. His head whipped to the right, hesitate on my only partially covered body for a minute, and then turn to the heavy, but not dungeon-like, wooden door. He couldn't wait for my answers to his questions long enough though, because Harry immediately turned his attention to me, then.

"Draco!" I watched the words flow through his face. _Did I fuck him?_

While he was still blinking, I decided not to lie to him. Meaning not to tell him that yes, we did have sex. Also meaning I could do everything _but_ lie out loud to him. Games like these are only too easy without rules. It's more fun if you try and improvise. Apparently demons are masters at it.

I smiled, and the smile alone confirmed the question in his eyes. It was the intimate, heated, I-won't-tell-if-you-don't, smile. My lips brushed against his ear as I whispered, "Guess."

Harry swallowed, breath coming a little faster, and opened his mouth to speak, but Hades beat him to it.

"You wake up naked, unconscious on the floor in between two other equally-lacking-in-clothes men. All of us like men. Draco and I are fuck buddies, among other things. I can smell your lust from the opposite side of the room when you're around Draco and he's made it pretty damn clear that he wants you. As for you and me? Well, despite the fact that I shoved a butcher knife up your ass, you can't get enough of me." Hades propped his head up on Harry's arm, hair sliding over to, ironically enough, cover Harry. The black strands cascaded over his flesh, the one part of him that only small dots of blood had managed to land on, like warm, liquid silk, and he shivered. "If I were you, my guess would be yes."

Harry tilted his head to look at Hades, eyes wide. "Did you fucking drug me?!"

Hades laughed. "Why would I drug you? Honestly, tell me why."

"I don't know! You think I know you?!" Harry snapped. "And I feel…weird."

"Hey look, your body's covered in blood," Hades said a how-about-that tone of voice. "Maybe that's got something to do with it."

This priceless, priceless moment. I watched with a barely restrained smile of anticipation as Harry stared with wide eyes down at his hands, which had a fine quiver disturbing their balance, and then down at his crimson stained chest, and down all the way to his pale feet. His hands automatically went to his hair, and came away with more blood that was just beginning to dry, but still warm, still hot with the aftertaste of another's heartbeat, still wet and fresh.

"What the fuck is going on," Harry said, and his voice was no louder than normal, almost calm, but with a small quiver running through it. "What did you do?! I can't find enough wounds for all of this, it isn't possible!"

His hand went to his legs, then to his bare chest, and I saw pain flash through his eyes. Marion had cut them some with the piece of glass Hades had given her. Most of them were pretty shallow, except for the knee gash, where bone glimmered, but all the more reason for them to hurt.

It was odd how often you didn't feel pain until you looked at the actual injury and became aware of it. This was how it was for Harry right now, I would think. Though the fact that he had been distracted by waking up next to me and Hades with no clothes might have something to do with that.

"Please, Draco, what happened?" he asked, voice scared. Interesting. Maybe it wasn't so, but it seemed to me his voice was laced more with that tone that I've heard before. I'll explain it if I turn out to be right.

"Well, raise your head, you'll find out," I said, shrugging.

"Not until I get clothes," he muttered. "Get me clothes. I'm cold."

I raised an eyebrow. "You actually care? You're covered from head to toe with blood and you say you're cold?"

"Yes, damn you, I said I'm cold!" he snapped. "I haven't been properly dressed since I got here. I want a shirt, too."

"Someone's cranky," Hades remarked. "Get them yourself, you lazy, blood drenched bum."

"I don't know where any are," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"Not my problem."

I smiled. It rarely failed. Hades never would take an order.

Harry glared at him, and Hades, fully naked with several blood spatters on his white skin and perfectly at ease, smiled back. Harry hadn't moved simply because Hades' hair was partially hiding him, but he didn't look comfortable.

But then, it was hard to look as comfortable with no clothes on like Hades could. Maybe it was because his body was perfect, so he had nothing to hide, but if he didn't like clothes so much, he'd just walk around the world naked. Clothes for him were not a necessity to cover oneself with, but an art, like another game to him.

I saw Harry's eyes catch those now ripped, bloody pants flung into a far corner, and then quickly look to another corner. There, another pair had been thrown as if taken off in a hurry, and I watched him wonder exactly what that hurry had been about, then a determined gleam came into his eyes.

I hid another smile. Still covered in blood, hurting, and no idea why, and the world had narrowed down to his getting a pair of pants. It was like his mind couldn't possibly grasp the bigger picture, and tricked itself into thinking a much smaller solution was the most important thing for now. He couldn't handle that he was in bed with Hades and Draco Malfoy, naked, and covered in gore, but he could handle getting pants.

"Where's my wand?" he said suddenly.

"Not here," Hades said helpfully.

Harry sighed and stood up and strode over to the corner, pretending that two pairs of eyes weren't following his every move. He had a slightly stiff movement to him that said he didn't like being watched, but his pride was probably too big to cover himself until he got the pants.

"These aren't mine," he said flatly, holding them up.

"No, they're mine," I said.

"Would it kill you two to wear some freaking boxers?" Harry muttered rhetorically. "Usually people tend to wear something between them and their pants." He looked up without waiting for an answer. "I need some."

"Go find some, then," Hades suggested.

I watched a frustrated look flit over his face. He finally just pulled the pants on. The pants slid over the blood that generously decorated his legs easily. The pants were black with many silver zippers all over them, some unzipped so that you could see splashes of red and pale skin.

"Now I need a shirt," he said.

"Are you done delaying, yet?" Hades asked bluntly.

"No, I genuinely want a shirt," Harry said. "I haven't had a shirt since…I don't know since when. There's no way of keeping time in this damn place."

Hades stood in one liquid motion and he was dressed. "I think it's time you stopped stalling."

The scenery changed, molding and morphing around the three of us, blurring colors and objects in a whirl of sights, as there was the sensation that you get in your stomach sometimes where part of you in on the ground, and part of you isn't, and there is a strange swooping feeling.

Around us was the cool atmosphere of the dungeon, the weapons, jars, and tools on the walls and various metal shelves, the stone walls and floors and ceiling (which still had some dark stains from when Harry had discovered gravity doesn't always work the way it should) and of course, the obvious and eye-catching corpses on the floor.

Somehow Hades' voice managed to be amused and yet serious in a tone that would allow no negotiating.

It was like clothes just grew out of that pale skin, welling up beneath the surface and then replacing the skin. Cloth spun itself from shadows around him, and even pulled his hair back behind him as if it was someone we just couldn't see, or several people.

Hades was wearing an actual suit and tie. You would think a demon like Hades would look out of place in a suit, you really would, but you would also be terribly wrong.

The actual suit was a deep red, darker than crimson, the collared shirt beneath it was white and simple, with a tie not the fake looking, dully shining, almost sick gold some clothing is, but a handsome, subtle colored gold. His black hair was swept into a long ponytail at the base of his neck held by a ribbon the same color as the suit, with several strands escaping. He had only a single earring, a dangling golden Satanic cross. The pants matching the suit, the belt dark leather with a golden buckle, Hades, with no effort, looked incredible. Not that Hades ever had "off" days or anything resembling them.

It wasn't tight, but it did fit him incredibly well, and he looked very elegant. Sophisticated. While still managing to look like he had just stepped out of your darkest fantasy. He took muggle clothing used for business and turned it into something sexy, something darkly elegant.

Hades walked up to him until he stood over him, tall and graceful. He looked down at Harry, and smirked, full lips twisting to the side. "I know you see it, Harry."

Harry turned his face to the side, maybe so that Hades couldn't see his face.

"I know what you're waiting for, too," Hades said calmly, and putting slender hands on either side of Harry's face, forcibly jerked his head to face him. "It hasn't happened yet, has it Harry. Nor will it ever happen."

Harry turned his face, but it was to turn his gaze directly on Marion. It wasn't a random look, because he knew exactly where she lay, meaning he had already looked.

"Well?" Hades prompted, staring full into his face, looking menacing as only Hades can when he isn't even trying.

I could pinpoint the exact second where he snapped. One second he was staring back almost defiantly, like the good old Harry, and then his face flinched, crumbling under some suffocating weight.

"Fine, I am _done_!" he said fiercely, angry, though I wasn't sure at whom. "Yeah, I see her. And you know what else? I remember everything. I remembered when I woke up. I was there while it happened, and not just because Vlad was using my body. Because I was aware of what was going on, and yes, the blood did turn me on, and yes, I fucking enjoyed it! I loved it!" His voice rose, reaching hysterical heights. "Fucking Hell, I _loved it_! I killed two people! I–I practically bathed in her blood, and it was bloody fantastic!"

I grinned, and couldn't help it. "I've been waiting for you to say that for years, Potter, Christ! If not with slightly varying words. Took you long enough, though."

Yet I didn't try to hide the fact that I was pleased, very pleased indeed. It showed in my voice and I meant it to. It was on my face, too, my grin was had been there for a while and was staying. Adrenaline swam through my body, widening my grin until I'm sure it looked a little maniacal, at the possibilities, at the triumph of winning this game. After all, this had been our goal from the very start, when we first saw it in him. Get him to admit he just wasn't that far away from us.

Well, I speak for myself, I still have no idea what Hades has in mind, what motivates him, and all that. Sometimes I might think I do, and then he blows that theory all to hell, or gives me that look, and I'm back to wherever I started. There are no facts about Hades. For all I know, he could be amusing himself with me, and then spontaneously kill me on a whim and leave my body in the gutters to rot.

Harry smiled at the use of his last name, just like 'old times', and then it faded just as quickly.

"So why all the pretense, Harry? Why not just tell us you knew?" I asked.

"I was waiting…I just waited, and waited, and waited. I thought that I would feel something, _anything_, and I was in shock, and that was why I wasn't feeling guilty. Hell, fuck guilty, I should be on the floor, screaming! I don't understand…I'm still waiting," he said, those last words a whisper.

I waited for the "but" and wasn't disappointed.

"But I don't…I'm not. I don't feel miserable, or guilty, or angry at you two, or self loathing, even. I – I feel good," he said, sounding surprised. "I feel energized. It's like as soon as those two died, they were erased from my mind, they were nothing to me. They _are _nothing to me, but they were everything in that moment, just the wrong kind of everything."

To some people, it might have sounded like he was babbling, but I knew what he meant, exactly.

"I tried, I really did, to feel something, but I don't, and you know what?" an age old weariness shadowed his eyes. "I am sick and fucking tired of pretending! If what I am is wrong, if what I am is a sin, if it is evil and sick and perverted and I am damned, than so be it! Damned is living your life like everyone else wants, obedient and empty, day after goddamn day. I am done with waiting, I am done pretending, and everyone who wants a savior can go fuck themselves!" His voice rose, and rose, until he was almost shouting.

His voice rang out, words clear and harsh and angry, but a little quieter. "I'm sick of acting like I should, and following everyone else's example. Everyone's always telling you to be honest, to be who you are, well, _this is who I am._"

There was a silence, and when he spoke it was with a different tone of voice.

"I feel good…" he repeated softly. "I feel really good!"

Harry laughed, and it sounded different. I think it was the first real laugh I had heard from him, and I'm not counting Vlad. It sounded like, well, I do hate to be cliché, but like some great weight had lifted. Light, truly happy, a sound in all of our years I'd never heard once.

Hades put an arm around his shoulder. "Congratulations, Harry. Really. You know, I think we should celebrate."

Harry looked up at him, but his eyes weren't suspicious. They were happy, and smile was spreading across his face. "Yeah?"

"What do you mean, 'yeah?'?! We've been waiting for you to say that for a long time now, Harry! This is _good news_!" Hades said, crushing Harry to his side. "Our goal was to break you, until we saw what I think was Vlad, or a glimpse of him, in you. Then we wanted to break you _and_ bring out the inner sadist and all that. And now we have accomplished that, and you aren't weighted down by all those damned morals and rules people try and dump on you. So fuck yes, we are celebrating!"

"You already knew, didn't you," I said, grinning. "Look at you, you're wearing a fucking suit!"

Harry was even grinning with us. "Oh, Gryffindor colors, nice."

Hades shrugged, grinning. "So, aren't you going to ask what we're going to do to celebrate?"

HDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDVHDV HDVHDVHDV

_He is unbelievably beautiful. I have a moment where the thought of living life as another might, never to see the crimson spattered beauty before me, is almost frightening. I cannot grasp what it would be like, to be without Hades, to be without Harry. To have a job, maybe at the Ministry, regain my place in the proper society of an aristocrat; reunite with dear father…to live without what I live for. I think perhaps that is my idea of a slice of Hell. _

HVDHVDHVDHVDHVDHVDHVHDHVHDHVHDHVHD

A/N: That was the end, by the way. I can't believe it took me to long to post that. It was all basically written out, too. I love you all a whole bunch, especially all of you twisted peoples. We make the world go 'round, don't think we don't. ((grins)) Keep reviewing, I love every single review, flames, constructive criticism, ramblings, and even the ones that have degraded into some weird form of English, Internet Babble, and really bad spelling. Oh, and I think I'm going to write an epilogue, hehe, but after that I swear I'll stop dragging this series out. It's just, the three men just got together, right? And I never even mentioned how Draco Malfoy and Hades met, which I think ought to be fixed. Give me your opinions, please. Happy Thanksgiving and all, everyone! (Happy to be back, I really am. Sorry again! I'll answer any signed reviews given, really.)


	5. Graduation: Draco Meets Hades

Disclaimer: I don't own Hogwarts or other aspects of J.K. Rowling's masterpiece; I do own Hades and the new twisted plot. I changed things, too. Draco killed Dumbledore in 6th year and because he's amazing he never got caught. Don't sue.

A/N: Happy holidays, people. This is how Draco and Hades met, which I felt like writing, the prequel, if you will. It's 26 pages so don't tell me I never give you anything. I don't know whether to like this or not. Help me decide and tell me what you think.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Graduation. Seven years of Hogwarts, completed. Seven years of education, of fights with Potter, of death, and of living up to this infamous Malfoy name. Since my arrival at Hogwarts, nearly five years of avoiding the Dark Mark, too, which, and I don't care if I'm bragging, is a rather large feat.

The speeches were over. The new Headmistress, McGonagall, gave a heavy one about all the deaths that we've faced and those we have yet to face, our past and future. Very inspiring, I'm sure. Ronald Weasley and his family, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, some students, a few people over at the Ministry of Magic, and so on, have all been killed. There was a long list. The only one I would have taken back was Severus, because he was my godfather and the only one I had some semblance of a connection with at this school, unless you want to count Potter over there.

Potter had this expression on his face that the Daily Prophet snapped tons of photos over, and it'll probably be everywhere by tomorrow. It's a real hero's expression, apparently. He's staring up at the podium in his pitch black robes, dress robes, but those of mourning, I suppose. His face seems more lined, harder, than only years ago, even though he's only seventeen, and he's got some solemn, determined look on his face, 100 Gryffindor. My eyes are starting to twitch from the damn flashes of the Daily Prophet's photos. How many images do you need of a single expression? His eyes aren't shiny with tears, though, and he just looks like he's concentrating on mastering a spell to me, like so many other times. I suppose the people need the symbol of their hero more than his actual actions now. Morale and order seems to be more important than actually defeating the cause of these problems.

Usually graduation is a "joyous occasion", but we are an ocean of formal, black robes and faces with tears that aren't of anything resembling happiness.

It's a beautiful day, though. Rather, it was. The sun was annoyingly bright with a cloudless blue sky, and it was warm with a slight, refreshing breeze. The Whomping Willow had such pretty green leaves, swaying in the breeze, with birds cooing and chirping to each other. We're gathered by the lake, which was shimmering almost painfully bright under the sun, because inside all of our things are being magically transported elsewhere, and Hogwarts cleaned and doubly warded with strong spells. Everyone wants to get out as quickly as possible.

It _was_ a perfect, golden day, but I think someone decided it wasn't appropriate for the mood, because a haze of gray dulled the sun to a tiny ball of wan light and smothered the once indigo sky. The lake was no longer a cheery, bright blue, but black and sinister looking. The only birds sounding were occasional crows and ravens, and once, the mournful cry of Fawkes, whose feathers were duller and ratty looking, as the bird pined for its master. It looked pathetic.

I suppose the somber mood would have been a little off if it had stayed so picture perfect, so I know the weather had been worked, magically. It seemed superficial and a little ridiculous, but it was fine with me. Damn sun was blinding me.

A scattering of parents, those not dead, lined the edges of the forests. My father was there, to make the appearance, I think, because the Death Eaters were attacking today and it would have looked bad if he wasn't seen by those that were the "good" witches and wizards.

Hagrid's bulk seemed larger than usual, next to the tiny Professor Flitwick. The half giant was dragging a huge hand across his red face as he tried to keep himself together. Man's been a mess without Dumbledore. There were quite a few spaces between teachers that despite their efforts to stay together were very obvious. Dumbledore, Snape, and Madame Pomfrey's absence were the most noticeable.

Most of the students had had to abandon their former dreams of what they would do after graduating. This was war, after all, and the pretense of being neutral or having a regular job was a luxury.

As for myself, I was expected, naturally, to become a Death Eater, and had done just that in my fifth year. As son of his right hand man, Lucius Malfoy, I was expected to be a great asset to them. Apparently I was, too, having killed Dumbledore last year, and yet miraculously escaping discovery through a deep weaving of memory charms, assassinations, and bribery.

I didn't really mind. At least I could have a purpose then. I had learned everything I could, and that was my chief pleasure, but I had no interest in women or material, or anything, really. My ambitious nature had grown dull with something like boredom. My life was planned out already for me, and it always had been. Get sorted into Slytherin, make the right friends, become Daddy's little prodigy and Voldemort's pawn, and graduate from Hogwarts.

_The opposite of Potter, but the same idea_, I mused. He was predestined to be the hero, and I as the "villain". How nice. I always knew we had loads in common.

They would probably mistake my expression for a serious one, but I was just uninterested. Yes, I know who died, I know how, and I know what my future will be, thanks. I know we have to stay closer together than ever now and all, and I also know that's only a pretty thought. Potter's supposed to be the only one who can kill Voldemort, anyway. I'd let him, too, I'd even help him, but then I'd have nothing to do. At least killing people is more interesting than a regular life, if nothing else.

When it at last ended, and crying students with white faces or eyes red from tears, with somber, pensive expressions, or crumbling faces, were all saying their monotonous goodbyes, it had started to rain. How incredibly cliché. I would bet anything someone, or some people, were manipulating the weather.

I gave a cheerful wave to Potter, who frowned at me, and a grin. Well, alright, there was my interest. Taunting Potter. He was so bloody serious, and it made him an easy target. I found it funny that he was so obviously unhappy but no one seemed to notice. I would laugh until my stomach hurt if he committed suicide.

I wiped the grin off of my face as I turned into my father's range of view, looking serious and blank again.

Black umbrellas were popping up in places. Where had people gotten them? Maybe those were the graduation gifts. How nice.

My father didn't have one though, and didn't look like he cared. Well, not that he ever did.

"Congratulations, Draco," he said, nodding to me like I was a distant acquaintance or a business partner. "There's been a change in plans. I need for you to wait in the Forbidden Forest until I come for you."

That's my father. Not one to waste words, is Lucius Malfoy.

"Where in the Forbidden Forest, Father?" I asked.

"There's an old, broken down Muggle car in the heart of the forest," He told me, and to another, it would have looked like we were discussing graduation or plans for dinner. "It's in a small clearing, in which you will wait until I or another appears. If a centaur gets in your way, kill it."

As I thought. What else. A Death Eater's meeting.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

I was in the heart of the forest, or rather, I was, except no one was there, so I decided to explore.

I don't hold my personal safety as a priority of any sort, odd as that may sound, because I can't stand _nothing_. No, that isn't bad grammar, that's the truth. The monotony of a daily job for an ordinary and simple cause would kill me. Being nothing, doing nothing, kills me.

At some point in my life, my emotions started shutting down. With more duties, more punishments, and more knowledge, and time, came the need for less of them, I suppose. So I can give you whatever facial expressions I want to, and I can give a professor a charming smile and witty words when really I want to hurl a chair at them. Most importantly, my expression is permanently, blankly, semi-pleasant but empty, out of necessity. The problem with all of these advantages and lie came the fact that now when I ought to feel emotions, I don't, even if I wanted to.

That's why I explored the rogue and dangerous Forbidden Forest on my own, in the rain that day. Because I'd rather be killed, rather be in mortal danger, than be uninterested. Extremes are the only way I feel anything now, and I enjoy "feeling", so I even hope for things most people spend their lives trying to avoid. I'm a little odd, I admit, but I couldn't care less, especially since otherwise I would never have met him. If I hadn't met him, I would have become just another mindless drone, shut down and empty. I would have nothing. I would _be_ nothing. Allow me to explain.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

I was already soaked, and hadn't even attempted a small charm to repel the rain. It was chilling my skin and plastering my pale hair to my forehead, getting in my eyes, but that was alright with me.

The leaves of the Forest squelched softly beneath my feet, too soft to hear unless you were listening for it. I wove my in and out of the tall, thick trees, no longer heeding where I was going. I would feel the Death Eater's presence and Apparate to them when I needed to.

Then I hear something that definitely sounds worthy of my attention. I pause and change direction, following the rises and falls of a student's frantic voice.

"You only have three strikes," an amused voice was saying. "Why don't you make them count instead of giving me that panicked babble? Come on, two to go."

"I—I just graduated!" sobbed the voice, hopeless with fear. "I was going to, I'm going to work for the Ministry, I'm so young…God, I don't even know what you _are_! Please, please let me go, let me down, I'll never tell, I'll never say anything, just—just let me go, _please_!"

"What the Hell was that? I swear, you aren't even trying," the voice laughed. There was a thick, tearing sound, with small squelches of something liquid and very much part of a living thing. A piercing scream immediately swelled and reached a high, haunting note, only to be swallowed by the canopy of trees and the Forest's strange acoustics. The sobbing became louder, and not just because I was getting closer.

"One strike left. Come on, convince me. I'll listen. Why do you deserve to live? What purpose, what impact could you possibly have on this world? Are you a writer? A nurse? A professional Quiditch player? Or are you going to be a Death Eater, rise through the ranks, and become the next Voldemort? Tell me."

I was now mere yards away, the two voices hidden from me by several well places trees. The voice gave a hopeless and terrified shriek, sobbing hysterically. "I told you, I'm going to work in the M-Ministry! I'm on the side of the L-light! I'm a good person! I'll save lives!"

"Nah, anyone can do that," the voice said cheerfully. "Strike three, little girl. Maybe you'll be important in the Afterlife, who knows?"

There was a choking sob of disbelief, a shaking breath, and then a full, wet sound of ripping flesh, sounding as if it were happening simultaneously in more than one place. There was an agonized scream that changed pitch, volume, and ended in small, half sobbing whimpers broken once by a wrenching shriek that would have given Dumbledore goose-bumps.

"You were pretty weak, weren't you?" the voice continued, almost happily, but not very different from a normal conversational tone. "I bet that wasn't how you planned on dying, either." The voice paused, and the only answer it received was silence, so it said. "Oh, well. I need your vertebrae and some other choice bones, so you served your purpose."

Intrigued beyond belief, it never occurred to me once that this was not a good person to approach. I was walking towards the sound of the voice and the faded shrieks and there was no decision needed.

Usually when there is a corpse, and a gory one at that, hanging strung between trees, that's what you notice first. That came second. First, my attention was called to the god sitting on a log, happily prodding the body with a slender metal pole that narrowed to a point. Beside him, on the log he was sitting on, was something that looked like a garden rake a muggle might use, but with rather large shreds of flesh caught in its three metal lengths and the silver of it glinting a wet, shining crimson that the rain, strangely, was not touching.

He looked at me, and his eyes were an ethereal, metallic, silver; solid and real, with a liquid black circular pupil. The silver iris ended in a thin ring of pale gray that was half silver, half the color of clouds on a day much like today, or smoke, which melted into a thin circle of deepest black. Those eyes, frighteningly intelligent and alive, were rimmed with long black lashes. They were the most incredible eyes I'd ever seen in my life.

The skin surrounding was an untouched and pure white, if white could be added to with a dash of silver and something less solid, and far more real than an ugly, bright white paste. As if something akin to moonlight had been added to perfect the color. The black, silken cloak of hair fell around him, seeming to shine in the absence of light, straight yet far from rigid, molding and falling in stray strands where it pleased. Down to the full, sensual lips the color of pale roses, the strong, defined but somehow almost delicate contours of his bone structure, he was perfect. But perfect means unreal; perfect means something fake and all too often plastic or illusionary. For nothing can really be perfect. He was, though, just in a living, warm, and somehow utterly beautiful and believable way.

He didn't stand, and I say he because I had no doubts as to his gender whatsoever (despite some people thinking long hair automatically means you're a woman), but the log he sat upon, several feet off of the ground and thick, didn't hinder the fact that I could see that the perfection did not stop with what I'd so far observed.

Long legs encased in jeans—not exactly faded, but certainly not new― bent at the knee, bare, pale feet on the ground, relaxed in stance. There were several tears and cuts in the jeans, revealing smooth flesh, but they didn't look like fashion had created them. His torso was clad in a pale, stormy gray T-shirt, tight enough to reveal toned, beautiful glimpses when he moved.

The funny thing was it was clear he wasn't trying. He'd done nothing with that waterfall of black hair, letting it fall where it would, and his clothes could have been bought anywhere and didn't look even vaguely new, nor were they fitted. He wasn't even wearing shoes. And yet it was unthinkable that anything could ever compare to him.

I realize to another I would have been sounding quite obsessive, and perhaps I am. But if you ever have the honor of looking upon him, you'll know. No detail can be left out, and no amount of details does him justice. For that reason alone, I'll let you attempt to envision what I mistook for a god all by yourself.

He turned to me, and there were red dots on his face, like someone had flicked bits of paint at him. His clothes had some, too, with splashes of crimson only seeming to enhance his appearance. It's difficult to explain, other than blood simply suits him.

"Well, hello," he said to me, looking at me full in the face. "Do you know her?" He gave the body a poke, and it moved a little in its nest of vines, her head lolling from side to side as he jabbed her with a little more force.

I studied the body, to answer his question, though it was very difficult to look away from him. I had to concentrate very hard to simply keep my eyes on her. If she had been any less interesting I would have just said the first answer that had come to mind and gazed upon him for Someone only knows how long. I came very close to doing just that.

The girl's body, now a lifeless, bloodied, mess of flesh, hung suspended near a small scattering of trees that surrounded her. From the trees, vines had snaked around her wrists, her ankles, her fingers, tightly and efficiently, so that she was held there, body displayed in a limp sort of X , arms held out from her. The vines were tight enough that her flesh was discolored where they gripped her, and would bruise, provided there was enough blood in her body left and her body could lie flat enough for the blood to pool where it would. Hanging, that would not happen.

The student, for she had been at graduation, she had been in one class with me, a Ravenclaw, I remembered. Her intelligence must have been limited to books, because her last words had lacked common sense and intelligence altogether. One look at the god should have been enough for anyone to know he did not work for the Light, and deserved better.

Her brown hair, lank and imperfect in its ponytail, or her pale, blood spattered face, was not what caught the eye when looking at her. It was her body, the graduating clothes, once proper and smooth, were ruined. She hadn't been violated, though her cloak was in a heap on the forest ground, and her uniformed skirt in strips. It was in strips because something had raked down her body, from her collarbone to her groin, in deep, crude lines, three of them in total. It was as if a giant claw had ripped through her, leaving her body as meat for the crows, in great, peeling divisions of still-bleeding flesh. I could see a fair amount of her ribcage, and her pelvis, too. Her heart has been torn from its safe nest and hung lower, pierced by a jagged rib, bleeding out heart blood, darker than the rest by a shade or two. Her innards lessened the beauty, the uniqueness of this sight, beginning to reek. Once you cut some one up, cut up their stomach only if you get to leave the body fairly quickly after that. It doesn't smell very enticing, to say the least.

Blood was trickling not out of one corner of her mouth, all nice and together like in the movies, but staining her slightly parted lips and her chin, and dribbling down the curve of her throat. This was, obviously, to be expected. She'd had more than enough done to warrant internal bleeding. Hell, you could see the internal bleeding for yourself.

_Do you know her?_ He'd asked.

"Yes, though I didn't know her well. She was in one of my classes." I didn't care. I didn't mind. I feel exhilarated, feeling like I'd discovered something amazing. And I had, there was no doubt as to that.

"You don't mind if I work while we talk, do you?" he asked me, and the rain fell, the damp smell of the Earth when it rains masked by the stench of the girl. "She's beginning to smell, as you've noticed, I'm sure."

"Not at all," I said, a rush of energy and adrenaline reawakening my dead body. I even felt the rain, the cold, and it had lost the dream-like quality my life almost always had nowadays. Real, very real.

"Lovely," he said, rising effortlessly and snatching up the bloodied tool, the wicked, thick-bladed—though they weren't blades, they were like small, silvery, metal poles until the ends, where they were curved to a deadly point—weapon that had been used to steal the breath from her corpse. He set down the pole and approached her, walking with grace, looking vaguely cheerful. He was very friendly for a murderer. He hadn't even attempted to kill me yet, nor had he seemed at all worried that I'd witnessed his "sin".

"I thought I recognized your scent. Your looks, too, of course. I know your father," he said by way of explanation, hooking the tool around an intestine, piercing it like a thick worm impaled upon a hook, and pulling. "Lucius Malfoy is quite well known in the undergrounds of society. You're rather alike, in some ways."

"Are we?" I asked, interested. People always told me I was just like my father. I looked like him, and I followed in his footsteps, too. It sounded different coming from him. I wanted to know why, coming from him.

"Indeed. You're also different, though. Hold a moment, I'm going to get rid of this stench," he said, sliding a hand inside of her. The body shook in its chains of vine, almost convulsing, though his hand was still. His hand came out with more of her innards, casting them to the side uninterestedly with a shake of his hand. "That's better, is it not? Now we can begin. There's a bag behind that log. Get me the tool that looks like a small shovel, will you?"

The smell was gone, replaced with the faint scent of carnage, blood and death, quietly accompanied with the smell of rain and moist forest soil. A beautiful scent, this, unmarred by the flaws of a human's last humiliation. Death is not often as romantic as it is portrayed.

I did this, riffling through a plain leather satchel and holding up a carved out, flat but curved, metal tool with a solid woodened handle. There were a thousand questions to ask, an endless number of conversations to be had, a _life_ to be lived. I could feel it, and that I could feel at all only confirmed this.

I approached him, running my eyes over him in wonder. He took the tool from me. "Thanks."

"What are you?" I asked, and I didn't try to be polite.

He smiled at me, not at all bothered by the question. "I'm a demon. An incubus of the first order and more besides. If you've ever met one I shall be very surprised."

Demons. I tried to flip through the pages of my mind, searching to recall all I had learned of them. There were very few books on demons, too few, and what existed was not the most helpful of writings. More like zealots of some forgotten age ranting and raving. Not a lot of help at all.

The one book I'd ever found on them that was truly helpful flipped to three separate pages for me, closed, and never opened again. For anyone. It was a beautiful book, with watercolor illustrations and black inked, hand written calligraphy for words. I had seen a colored depiction of a succubus, the female version of his kind, extraordinarily beautiful and enticing; the kind of beauty that entranced and tempted and drove those who saw them mad with lust. She had had wings, however, great feathered wings and some sort of animal crossing in her feet, giving them something between talons and claws.

I wasn't going to deny it. "I thought you weren't allowed on Earth."

He uncorked a small vial from his pocket, pouring some pearly liquid into his palm and flinging it at her. Her flesh began to melt, blood hissing and bubbling. "I am one of few exceptions. It's nice to hear from someone who isn't completely in the dark, so to speak."

"So it does exist. Hell exists, then? It isn't just a human myth?" I inquired, fascinated. Her features were crumbling, flinching as though eaten alive by acid. The bone beneath was white and untouched.

"Yes. The zealots occasionally get something right, or partially anyway," he said, scraping off the remaining shreds of corroded flesh carefully.

Hell. The zealots had gotten that one right, although the human's idea of Hell is more born of fear and discipline and threats to humanity to _stay in line_ rather than fact. There is a Lucifer, Lucifer Morningstar, the most beautiful of all, and yes, the devil does exist. The demons are his children, of sorts. Some are fallen, from a realm that we can only guess towards; some are high in the ranks, carnivores with an insatiable lust for violence or death; some are beautiful beyond compare, exotic, unique; some cannot be placed in one category alone.

Bits I remembered from the book, but that's what he told me.

"So you serve the devil? Does that make you evil?" I questioned. "You don't seem that much like a stereotypical idea of a demon."

"Well, the problem being, no one ever _defines_ evil," he explained, studying the white skeleton before him. "I do seem to fit most descriptions, though. But the villains in the human movies and books? That kind of evil? No, because no one _does_ that. I never laugh maniacally for ten straight minutes, after coming up with some petty plan that is soon to be spoiled by the obvious and dashing heroes. No, if it's found at all it's usually by unattractive old men in uniform and they never solve it, anyway." With a sharp snap, a rib was broken.

I was startled into a smile, cracking through the concrete of my skin. "Define evil for me."

"I'm not the one to give advice on such matters. You should have asked Dumbledore, he would have known."

"I suppose." He snapped off bones, carefully, setting them in a neat pile on the ground. "It doesn't matter to me enough to worry over it, in any case. I'm not in any rush."

I watch in silence, even as I feel the almost angry pulsing that says my father and our friends have all arrived. Even Voldemort is there. The Dark Mark on my arm is burning, and silently, I will the spell that will quench it. I'm not going. I'm not ever going back.

"You, who can watch this without so much as blinking, would you call yourself evil? Or does it bother you?" he asked me, tilting the jaw of the skull, to give eye contact to its hollow sockets. He looked seriously into it, as though he were giving it solemn advice.

"I don't think in terms of the word," I told him, "and I literally can't feel guilt, so I am anything but upset by this. I am fascinated. I am intrigued. Amazed, entranced; but not upset."

He smiled at me, and with a twist of his hands, severed the skull from it's confinements of bone, and began working on the vertebrae. "Here is where you differ from Lucius Malfoy. He simply doesn't feel, at this point, unless carefully manipulated, and harshly. He is addicted to rules and ways and beliefs and rigidity, absolutely sure of so much he does. You resist the call of the Mark as we speak, and have not yet reached his stage of slumber."

"Do you know him?" I asked, and felt something I hadn't felt for years. My heart beat. The kind of beat that is irregular in what should be a steady rhythm, standing still, and like it's skipping several pulses. I had forgotten.

He smiled at me, beginning the pile the bones into another sack. "Oh, yes. You see, there are a few exceptions to his numbness. I am one of them."

"He saw you then?" I asked, stilling.

My father always looked at people like they were inanimate objects, like he couldn't see them. When I was younger, he was different. He had expressions. He looked at me. He spoke with me, paid attention to me. Around two or three years ago, however, he gradually stopped. By the time I'd reached my fifth year, I was doing ridiculous, dangerous things, just to get him to look at me. It's become habit, looking at where I am right now.

I realized it must have sounded somewhat nonsensical, but he nodded. Then he paused in his work, and looked at me, shaking his head. "Let me tell you a story, Draco Malfoy.

"There was once an arranged, loveless marriage between two aristocrats of purest blood and birth. This marriage produced a son that the pureblood father began to obsess over, his only object of affection and pride. This son in turn idolized this father in a less than ordinary way, and the two spent perhaps a little more time than was usual together, though society never knew. For to the rest of the world, they were father and son of a dark family and had little to no affection whatsoever between them, and certainly nothing more than was expected. The father's affections, as his son reached early adolescence, turned darker, being a high ranking Death Eater and feeling nothing but animosity or neutrality for anyone else, anyone at all. This father, perhaps without even consciously thinking it, was convinced that such a thing would only end in disaster and that his son felt nothing more than what a son normally felt for his father.

"So the father's affections turned to darker, bloodier things, and yet the son never lost his respect for his father, and he never hated him, as his father likely wished him to. The father began ignoring him, barely looking at him, and shutting down his every emotion to control himself. The son, left alone and confused, did all that he could do to win back his father's attention and approval, taking on the most dangerous missions of the Death Eater's at the fairly young age of around fifteen years old. Both father and son still had eyes only for the other, and yet, neither realized this. To this day, the son obeys his father out of loyalty, habit, and something far stronger than affection, and the father has slipped into non-existence."

"Who told you that one?" I asked dully, my heart beat regular and muted, face stone again.

"Why are humans so stupid? Satan," he said in half-exasperation. "Just go fuck the man. This is not even complex, you just think it is."

"And do demons generally try and give advice? Do you often play the matchmaker?"

"Absolutely. It's a little known fact about demons. Deep down we enjoy fixing peoples love lives and knitting, right before we harvest their bones," he said solemnly, and my face reluctantly twitched, the corners of my mouth seeming to curve the wrong way, but moving nonetheless.

"This time, though, let's look at the facts. You and your father are hot. Incest is hot. All male sex with violence is hot. Incestuous, attractive men fucking with a taste for violence is, then, amazing. You understand now?"

I laughed, short, incredulous burst of sound, before I knew what I was doing. Just at him. Maybe it was his voice, his words, but also, he was just so…unique and obscene, having a conversation with someone he's just met, that walked in on him brutally murdering a student, and then watched him harvest her bones, asking you for tools along the way. Then he digs into the deepest dregs of your life, and tells you what few would ever admit to anyone at all in their entire lives.

I shook my head. "Where are you going?"

"My house, of course," he replied. "I'm not just being creepy. I needed fresh bones to make some new potions. I left someone waiting, too, and he's very insecure."

"Who's 'he'?"

"Well, he was walking out in the city last night at 2: 00 a.m., so what's he expect? Flowers? If he doesn't want to be kidnapped, he should have carried a gun with more bullets."

"Let me come with you."

"You're really asking the demon of whom you don't even know his name, that you just witnessed murder a girl and take her bones, to go to his house?" he arched a perfect eyebrow at me, amused.

"What is your name?"

"Hades. Just Hades, and I'm leaving out titles."

"Then I know your name and I don't care about the rest. Take me with you." I was seized by this compulsion that would allow nothing else. I _had_ to go with him. I had to be near him. I'd always thought being numb and alone was alright, because you couldn't be sad over it, right? Because I hadn't known anything else and I'd given up. But now that I knew what it was like to smile again, even if my smile was still lopsided and felt strange, and that there was the possibility of so much more, of a life, I was going with him. I was either dying, if he killed me, or I was going with him, but there wasn't a third option. Drastic? Dramatic? I won't deny it.

"Please," I said, and felt something like fear, which I hadn't felt in what seemed like forever, clutch at my stomach. Fear that he would leave me here, with a dead father and a pointless life and nothing. Fear that I'd always be left chasing after a man that talks to his son as if they've only just met, strangers, and left beginning to turn cold even towards him, hating him just a little for it.

"You don't even want to say goodbye?" The words should have been kind, but his voice was mocking.

"No," I said firmly, walking up to him. He was taller than me by obvious inches, but I didn't care. "I need to go with you."

One corner of his lips curved up into a smirk.

"Go get the bones."

HDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHD

A/N: My apologies for any mistakes, and I think I definitely made some, but I'm out of it right now. Please review and give me your thoughts. And your steak. Gods, I want steak. Gimme.


End file.
